


Too Far Gone

by 5_Minutes_2_Midnight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dark, Dreams vs. Reality, Gen, Great Wall of Sam, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Sam Winchester, Lucifer's Cage, Not A Happy Ending, Psychological Torture, Sam Winchester's Wall, Set in season 7, kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 14:43:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6083355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/5_Minutes_2_Midnight/pseuds/5_Minutes_2_Midnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All at once, Sam’s wall cracks, crumbles, then collapses altogether, and he's trapped in a place he doesn't know how to get out of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Far Gone

**Author's Note:**

> Um, yeah. Please heed the warnings that this doesn't have a happy ending. I'm not really in the mindset to write something happy, but I think some people like this stuff, so... here. Also, if you're feeling generous please leave a comment? I'd really appreciate it. Thanks for reading and... enjoy? I guess? ;)

A long day on the road, followed by a long hunt, followed by a long day on the road had Sam thinking he’d actually be able to sleep tonight. It hadn’t been coming easily lately, but Lucifer had disappeared early in the day, and while a small part of Sam worried about what it meant, for the most part he breathed easier and prayed that it would stick. Besides, with every part of his body—both physical and mental—screaming for him to fall asleep, how could he not?

Dean didn’t even bother to change when they entered their room for the night. Sure, he unlaced his boots and shed his blood-splattered shirt, but otherwise he just fell on top of the comforter, not caring about anything else. “Dude, do you know how dirty those things are?” Sam commented, pulling a disgusted face when he saw where Dean was lying.

“Who cares?” his brother mumbled into the bed.

“Ugh. Because—never mind. Sleep well!” he said instead, walking past him and slipping into the bathroom.

When he was finally clean and calm and ready to fall asleep, Sam climbed into bed, moaning at how nice it was to actually lay down at the end of the day. He cracked an eye open to scan the room, but Satan was still nowhere to be seen. Sam sighed contently.

He really shouldn’t have.

 

He woke up to fire; to hooks and pins and distant screaming.

He woke up to Lucifer standing over him grinning ear-to-ear.

He woke up in the Cage.

“Morning!” the Devil cheered brightly.

"No.”

“Yes.”

“No. I’m sleeping.”

“No, Sammy, you’re waking up.” He said it so matter-of-factly, so patronizingly, so calmly, that Sam’s breath hitched at the thought.

He vehemently shook his head, refusing to believe him, “I got out—Dean got me out—“

“You mean you really thought you left?” Lucifer just laughed at his rising panic, “I've spent _millennia_ in here, Sam; you thought escaping was as easy as making a deal with Death? You know, I wasn't lying—this honestly has been the best torture I've come up with. But…” He sighed, looking off into the distance before intently focusing back on Sam, "I'm tired. Keeping up a charade as detailed as this is just… exhausting.”

“No.” After spending decades down here, it was one of the few words Sam remembered.

“Yes.”

_“No. You’re not real."_

 

"Sam? Sammy? Come on, man, you gotta come back.” His brother’s voice echoed around him, and even Lucifer looked up at the noise. Sam startled back to reality, clinging to his brother with determination and fear. “Sam, can you hear me?”

“Dean?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Kiddo, it’s me. Can you look at me?”

Sam blinked a few times, getting used to the bright artificial light next to him, then slowly raised his eyes to meet Dean’s. “Dean.”

“There he is.” Dean smiled at his little brother, but both of them knew it was laced with fear and worry more than anything else. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Sam tried to control his breathing. Tried to listen to Dean’s voice pulling him back into reality. Tried to focus on _what was real_. Because he’s sure of it—Dean wouldn’t lie. He wouldn’t. Not about Sam escaping the Cage and coming back to him (relatively) functional and (almost) sane. It had to be real. The alternative was worse than death.

After several minutes of Dean consoling Sam—and of Sam trying to pull himself together enough to pacify Dean—Dean looked down at his brother, hesitant yet determined. “You wanna try to get back to sleep? I’m not going anywhere.” Sam shook his head; he couldn’t end up back there. What if this time he couldn’t get back. “I’ll be here, Sam, I promise. I'll always be here. Just listen to my voice and I’ll pull you back. Okay? Sammy, you _have_ to sleep.”

He did absently nod at that, because Dean was right: he did have to sleep. His life technically depended on it. But what if Dean wasn’t enough? What if Sam lost himself in his dream? “I’ll protect you, Sam. He can’t get you anymore.”

He slowly nodded again, settling back down into the sheets, reveling in the grounding hand Dean had placed on his shoulder. He can do this; he can beat the Devil—even if he is in his head…

But Sam opened his eyes once again to the bloody room. He can't do this. He needs Dean back. Now. “Dean?” he called, hoping his brother could pull him back, “Dean!!”

“Shhh, quiet down. You’ll lose your voice if you keep up that volume."

 

“Sam? Sammy, wake up!” Sam immediately started to react, tried to follow his brother’s voice back to reality, but when he smugly looked over at Lucifer to tell him that he was wrong, the Devil was simply smirking. Sam’s confident retort was lost when he watched the Devil silently shift into Dean, then mimic the fading words exactly as they sounded.

The room around them then shifted too, its characteristics completely identical to the one he and his brother were in—all the way down to the ugly wallpaper and stained bedspread.

“No.” Confused, frightened, and panicked, Sam’s heart rate began picking up speed, each breath becoming harder and harder to take in. Soon enough he was hyperventilating, pressed into the corner of the room as Satan stood in the middle of the floor laughing at him.

“Sorry. I’m—I just couldn't resist just one more illusion. Your reaction every time it all falls apart is truly priceless. It’s almost indescribable.” A lone tear ran down Sam’s face as he fought to inhale. "No, really, Sammy, it's amazing. Here, hold still so I can savor this moment. I want to keep this expression forever.”

 _Keep it…?_ No. Oh no. Oh, God, no. All of Sam's work to control his breathing was lost as Lucifer began walking towards him, reciprocating saw held loosely in his left hand.

There was no escape. No rescue. And even if there was, what did it matter right now? Regardless of what Dean said, just because pain feels _differently_ in Hell doesn't mean you don't feel it at all.

Sam swears he tried to stay strong. He swears he tried to wake up. But as Lucifer drew near he couldn’t hold back the flood of tears and raw screams.

It had seemed real. He had thought Dean was real. But the Devil on Sam’s shoulder had been gone so long; he should have known better. He should have seen past the act. He thought he got out.

 

In the real world, Dean was begging, screaming for Sam to wake up.

But it was too late. Sam Winchester was too far gone.


End file.
